


neque seorsum ("ad extremum terrae" - sequel)

by RecoveringTheSatellites



Series: This is not the End of the World [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fluffy Angst, but also hope and love and a happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecoveringTheSatellites/pseuds/RecoveringTheSatellites
Summary: “semper simul, neque seorsum” (Latin: always together, never apart)The world may end, but life goes on.A story about hope, and love, and the fact that no matter how much the world changes around you, the things you truly need always stay the same.Sequel toad extremum terrae.(In this case, it really helps to read that first.)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: This is not the End of the World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736665
Comments: 32
Kudos: 36





	neque seorsum ("ad extremum terrae" - sequel)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariakov81](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mariakov81).



> For @mariakov81, who is simply one of the kindest, most talented, and BEST people i have ever had the good fortune to meet.  
> Honey, you are one of my favorite people on the planet, and i hope you enjoy this.  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!  
> ❤❤❤❤❤❤

  
  


They are stuck in what used to be a diner.

Well and truly stuck.

In the walk-in freezer of all places. Because without power, it’s essentially a lock box, and easy to defend.

They are in this mess, because all of them decided to go along with her plan to find an island off the coast. An island just for them. They all started the trek, every single one of them armed to the teeth and carrying packs of every last seed and crop and scrap of food. They made good time along the banks of the river, but when they entered Storybrooke Belle went into labor. 

Now they are well and truly fucked.

And it’s all Emma’s fault.

  
  
  


It took Emma and Killian months and two trips to the Storybrooke library to plan the entire thing. Two trips because they were ambushed on the first one and just barely got away. Without any books. But the second time they struck paydirt, found more books and maps than they could carry, all on the archipelagos along the Maine coast. They pored over them night after night until Killian came across an islet labeled ‘Swan’s Island’.

That was its actual, registered name.

Killian had refused to look any further.

From the information they could piece together, it had been named long ago for a Scottish colonel, and the last census before the Chaos listed roughly 300 inhabitants and a small town. That was enough cause for Emma to worry, but Killian wouldn’t budge.  _ There are uninhabited islands to the east _ , he had said.  _ We can land there first. Observe what we’re up against. _ Emma had agreed in the end.

So they planned and prepared and then realized that Belle was fast approaching her due date, which forced them to consider waiting longer.   
Belle was vehemently against waiting longer.   
She made the excellent point that it was almost spring, which meant they would be able to sow and plant what few crops and vegetables they had immediately. And then there was the fact that the attacks on their stronghold had increased, and it was getting much harder to protect their meager resources and hold their perimeter.

And Emma had listened to her and given the all clear to leave as planned.

  
  


Belle breathes through another contraction and it hits Emma’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. Dr Whale nods at her and says, “I think this one’s coming fast.” Emma wonders if you can actually grind your teeth down to dust.

  
  


When Belle’s water broke, Ruby, who hadn’t spoken in months, mentioned the diner, and in a calm, clear voice told them about the walk-in freezer. Sitting inside of a walk-in fridge. Sitting inside a kitchen without windows.

It turns out that years ago Ruby was a waitress in this very diner, gorgeous and bubbly, with tight tops and hot pants and a complete disregard for convention. She doesn’t mention having met her wife here, has not said her wife’s name since the day she didn’t return from patrol. But instead of the emptiness of the last months, there is a fierce will to survive, to go on, burning in her eyes now, and the freezer was their only option, really.

Emma nods at Robin and David. They will have to stand guard - outside, in the main room. At the windows.

Will rises unbidden as she assigns their duties and Emma levels him with a glare. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Will glares straight back at her. “What do you think will give my kid the best chance to live? Staying in here, or keeping watch out there?”

Emma takes a deep breath and cuts to the heart of the matter. “What do you think will give  _ you _ the best chance to live?”

It’s a standoff, both staring each other down, nobody blinking.

Until Killian puts his hand on Will’s shoulder and says quietly, “Mate, we got this. Stay here. With Belle. Watch your child come into this world.”

And Will folds like a ninepin.

  
  


Killian’s hand stays on the small of Emma’s back as they climb the stairs to the roof of the building. She doesn’t start shaking until they reach it, and Killian knows better than to touch her now. He simply pulls his hand back and waits.

Emma takes two steps and throws up in a corner.

“It’s just tension,” she says.

Killian knows differently. She’s been throwing up for weeks. But if this denial is what she needs to make it through this, all the way to their destination, he will let her have it. No matter how much it breaks his heart.

He hands her his canteen, the same one she picked up in that clearing by the stream, where she found him again and saved his life, and she smiles a small, grateful smile.

Which then turns into a mask of anguish. “This is such a bad idea.” Her voice is low, and full of guilt.

That’s his cue. He walks over and wraps her up in his arms and just holds her tightly while she buries her head in his chest. He can feel the weight of this decision on her shoulders, wishes he could take it from her. Wishes she would share more of it with him.

Instead, he kisses the top of her head and then bends down to whisper in her ear. “We’re almost there, love, and we’re all safe for now, safe and alive.” He pulls back to lean his forehead against hers. “We’re safe and alive because of you. All we have to do is make it out to the water.”

She hiccups a short, desperate laugh. “Oh, is that all?”

He takes her chin and tilts it up, so she can see his eyes. “Yes. That is  _ all _ . And we  _ will  _ make it.”

He has promised himself that they will make it. Both of them. That they will  _ not _ die trying.

“So what do you say we get on with the plan and check out the harbor?”

What he wouldn’t give to be able to leave her here, locked safely into that walk-in freezer that is now a delivery room. To know she is as far from danger as possible. But he can’t. He needs her.

Needs her tracking skills and her preternatural sense of danger, her deadly precision with bow and arrow, her strength and speed at hand-to-hand combat.

Oh god.

Please don’t let there be any hand-to-hand combat.

But most importantly, he needs her next to him, in plain view. This is how they work. How they have worked since the moment they found each other again. Together and never apart.

Even if he wanted to leave her here, she would never stay.

She needs to be next to him just as much.

  
  
  


Half an hour of careful ducking through back alleys and slinking past dumpsters and detritus finds them at the harbor entrance. It looks perfectly calm and deserted, just like it did the last time they checked it, even if that had been from afar. They hadn’t dared to enter then, didn’t want to draw attention to their interest in ships. They had just made sure there were still vessels in the harbor, and then quietly turned around and made their way to the library.

Several boats lie moored in their slips, swaying slightly, algae and barnacles clinging to dirty, neglected hull sides. But Killian smiles at the sight of them, and runs his hand gently down Emma’s back.

She wishes she could be this hopeful.

She wishes she could stop thinking about everybody else, locked in the diner, depending on this one unchecked point of their grand plan, this completely unknown component, upon which everything hinges.

She wishes the nausea would stop.

Killian bends his head close to her ear and whispers, “Ready, love?”

And she is.

She is so ready. For better days.

He points to a sailboat a little ways off the main pier and smiles at her. “That one.”

The boat looks a bit less run-down than the others, and the covers holding the rolled-up sails are mostly intact. Which means that there’s a chance that the sails underneath them are mostly intact. Near the prow she can just make out the letters:  _ J LL OG R _

Killian smiles at her again and says, “I think it says  _ Jolly Roger _ . Somebody had a sense of whimsy.”

Somehow looking at a viable vessel brings the impossibility of the entire undertaking into razor-sharp relief and for a moment Emma can’t breathe.   
They are a motley crew of a dozen people and an infant, and one of them is about to give birth to another screaming baby. They have packs made from sheets and blankets and tarps, with all the seeds and plants and food they had. All the clothing they had. All the medicine. All the weapons.

All of which she somehow has to get out of the diner and down to the harbor and out to the slip and onto this boat. 

It’s never going to happen.

They’re all going to die here, all of them, and it will be her fault.

“Love.”

His hand is so warm and his voice is so fucking sure. For a moment she wishes she were alone, out in the middle of nowhere, responsible for no one, easy pickings for whoever wants to take a piece of her.

She is so  _ so  _ tired.

“Don’t do this to yourself, love.” His mouth is next to her ear. “This is not on you. You saved these people, all of them. You saved me. That’s all you do, all day, every day. Save us. Our demise - if it ever does come - will not be your fault. You are the reason we have made it this far.”

She shakes her head. She can’t swallow right, her throat is too narrow. Tears once again fill her eyes.

He simply pulls her close, lets her bury her face in his chest and holds her so tight she can hardly move. She hates how he always knows exactly the right thing to do. She loves him so fucking much.

She cannot lose him again.

“We can do this. Together. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

She can feel his lips graze her neck as he speaks and she exhales, because he always knows exactly what to say.

  
  
  
  


-/-

“You have to go with David.”

Killian stands there like a statue, unmoving. They have decided to go in pairs after nightfall, and the first ones up are David and Killian. Except that Killian is refusing to go.

“You  _ have  _ to go first.” Emma is at the end of her rope. “Someone has to get the boat ready, and you are the only one who can. You and David have to go first.”

He looks at her and, oh. If her heart hadn’t been broken before.

“I can’t.” His whisper is hoarse and his eyes are so, so afraid. “Please Emma. Please don’t make me.” The knuckles of his hand very slowly stroke down her breastbone and there are tears in his eyes.

“Please, love.  _ Please. _ ”

“Killian.” Emma shakes her head. “I don’t  _ want  _ you to go.” She takes his hand and squeezes until her knuckles turn white. Her voice is doing somersaults. “But I don’t know what else to do. It’ll take us forever to get everyone on board and the ship  _ has to  _ be ready to sail once we do. And Will and Belle have to be last. Belle has to sleep for as long as possible and their baby is the most likely to cry and alert everyone that there’s pickings to be had.”

“I know.” It sounds like his throat is made of sandpaper. “I know all that. But I can’t---”

Tears start to roll down his cheeks.

“I can’t go without you.”

“I have to stay and bring Will and Belle. I have to. She’s just given birth. What if he has to carry her? They need one working bow between them.”

He’s not wiping away his tears at all. Just stands there, looking shattered.

“I know,” he repeats. “I know. I just----”

“Killian,” she says again, even though it is hurting her more than the days she spent lying next to him, waiting for his fever to break, looking at where his hand used to be. “I don’t know what else to do. This is the only plan that gives us a chance.”

He shakes his head and bends down to kiss her, rough and fierce and possessive, and then he leans back.

“You are making it onto that boat, do you hear me?”. His eyes burn into hers. “You are going to make it up there alive. That’s a fucking order.”

She nods.

“And in one goddamn piece, OK? You are  _ both _ going to make it.”

It’s the first time he has said anything. The first time he has acknowledged what they’ve both known for weeks, but never talked about. The reason they’re really doing this.

Life inside Emma.

She nods, biting down hard on a wave of emotion, and then he takes her by the shoulders. Not gently. “You are coming back to me. You are both coming back to me, and then David has to marry us on the damn ship because I cannot wait another day, OK?”

And then he puts his arms around her and hugs her like his life depends on it and she no longer cares that she’s laughing and crying at the same time.

  
  
  


-/-

  
  
  


_ 17 minutes. _

They have decided to head out from the diner in 20 minute intervals. Six pairs of people times twenty minutes equals two hours. 

Two hours plus whatever time the last group needs to get on the boat.

The last group is Emma.

Two hours plus however long it takes  _ her  _ to get Will and Belle on board. Until he sees her again. 

It’s been seventeen minutes.

They have only two functioning wind-up watches left between them. All of them. One is an expensive timepiece Dr Whale bought back when money still mattered, and the other is an antique Mary Margaret inherited from her grandfather. Winding these watches every night is imperative - if they stop they’ll never know the exact time again.    
Killian has wondered often if that would be so bad, if they shouldn’t let go of the notion of clock hours altogether and move with the sun. 

But not right now.

Right now he feels like he’ll explode if he can’t keep track of the minutes, the hours, separating him from Emma.

  
  


David and Killian quietly board the  _ Jolly Roger _ . They don’t talk. They use a combination of military sign which David taught everyone ages ago - and mimicry. 

They start to strip down the sail covers carefully, listening hard for all extraneous sound. The sleeve around the boom is tacky and unwieldy in places and Killian wishes he could just rip it down.

Seventeen minutes without Emma.

Eighteen.

  
  
  


_ 51 minutes. _

There’s a series of soft knocks on the side of the hull and a few moments later Mary Margaret and Victor Whale step on deck. Killian’s mind has been counting up from one to sixty relentlessly. Uselessly. You don’t keep track of hours by counting minutes. You do it by checking the watch on your wrist, the one you borrowed from Mary Margaret so you wouldn’t go insane.   
That’s working out great.

Mary Margaret nods at him and then turns slowly, eyes steady and practised, looking for the perfect vantage point from which to stand guard. David doesn’t interfere, just briefly touches her shoulder, letting her know he’s there. She smiles at him as she finally, carefully unties the sash around her and hands him their son, gurgling slightly and fast asleep. Then she steps away and lies down at the very tip of the ship’s prow, her bow by her side.

Victor turns to Killian expectantly as David slowly makes his way below holding his boy, but all Killian can see is the pale skin around Dr Whale’s wrist, bare because Emma is holding the other watch. Waiting to send pair after pair.

Locked in a diner instead of here with him.

Fifty-two minutes.

  
  
  


_ 1 hour 34 minutes. _

Two more groups have made it, and they are eight people now, enough to stand guard and watch the baby and prepare the ship, and Killian is losing his mind.

Eight people on board means only four left at the diner, four people and a newborn, and that’s not enough for a decent defense, not nearly enough people to look out and fight. He’s checking the fuel tank of the outboard motor but he can’t pay attention because everything inside him, every single fiber of his being is screaming to  _ run _ , run back to the diner, get Emma himself.

The gas tank is open and he can hear a faint sloshing, but he can’t see anything in this darkness and can’t concentrate, and he’s so tired of this life, of this constant sense of danger, of this constant fear for the people he loves---

So tired of never getting a goddamn moment of peace, and what is he even doing, preparing for escape in this world without flashlights,

there aren’t even  _ flashlights _ , 

and he can’t, he  _ can’t---- _

“Smell it.”

David’s voice is a bare whisper, but it’s calm and steady, and Killian feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He looks up and David nods.

And then Killian leans forward until he can smell diesel fumes through the tank opening.

They have fuel.

One hour and thirty-six minutes.

  
  
  


_ 2 hours 32 minutes _

Everything is ready. Everyone is on board except---

Robin and Regina were the last ones to arrive, the last ones before  _ the last ones _ , and Robin says all was quiet when they left, but---

David touches his arm and Killian can barely feel it. He’s been staring at the watch on his wrist for 13 minutes and 47 seconds.

48 seconds.

49.

50.

David taps his wrist and Killian finally looks up from where he’s sitting next to the rudder, next to the zipline of the engine that hopefully still works. You can’t sail from a marina slip. You need power for that. David pulls him up and nods towards the stairs, and they both go below, where it’s safe to whisper.

There are bench seats along the hull in the cabin and Ruby sits in one corner, looking at the sleeping baby on her lap as if it were a ticking time bomb. She barely glances at them, her eyes glued to the infant.

“We only get one shot at this.” They are the first words Killian has said in two hours and thirty-two minutes.

David nods. “I know.”

Killian can feel anger and panic rising in the face of David’s utter calm. “That zipline rips or we need more than two pulls to turn over that engine, we may as well line people up to be shot.” 

He can hear his voice, no longer a whisper, and has to take a long moment to get himself under control.

“What were we thinking?” He can’t help himself. The floodgates are opening. “David,  _ what are we doing? _ We have people, we have  _ infants _ , in a confined space  _ with no exit _ . They come for us, we have nowhere to go. We’re all sitting ducks.”

He’s shaking. He can’t stop shaking.

“And we’re about to go and make enough noise to bring down the second coming and they  _ will  _ come and shoot us like fucking fish in a barrel, and----”

As if in slow motion he can see David’s hand lift and settle across his mouth. Only then does he realize that his voice has gotten  _ so loud _ . Ruby is looking at him, shell shocked. David’s looking at him, still utterly calm.

“We knew what we were getting into, all of us,” David whispers. “We knew, and we decided to go for it anyway.”

Killian wants to scream. David doesn’t let go, keeps one hand firmly across Killian’s mouth, the other at the back of his head.

“She is going to make it,” he says, his voice low and sure. “She is going to make it, and we will all escape this hellhole, and no matter what, we will find a better place, all of us.”

His grip on Killian’s neck tightens.

“She is going to make it. I know it.”

It is the way he says it that lets Killian take his first deep breath in hours, that sparks a small ember of hope, that makes him shake off David’s hand so he can wipe his eyes, and then there’s a sound on deck and he turns, and he moves to the stair leading up from the cabin, and then there’s a flutter of footsteps and a swishing of clothes and something jumps straight into his arms--- 

it’s a body, all muscle and sinew and blonde hair, all hard edges and sharp breaths and shiny green eyes---

and she hugs him and hugs him and doesn’t let go.

Two hours and thirty-six minutes.

  
  
  


-/-

  
  
  
  
  
  


They’re standing at the bow railing, looking out across a vast expanse of stars and sky. They have dropped anchor less than a mile out from shore, because they need daylight to navigate north towards Swan’s Island. 

Less than an hour ago David stood here before them, somehow managing to look solemn while grinning like a loon, and pronounced them husband and wife. It doesn’t mean anything in this Brave New Wilderness, but it means something to them.

After all, Emma did the same thing for him and Mary Margaret after they first took the lumber factory.

Killian is standing behind her, his arms once again wrapped tightly around her, his hand splayed across her middle. He has not stopped touching her since he got them out of the harbor and dropped anchor, has been holding onto her for dear life and she loves it, loves and needs it in equal measure.

Loves and needs  _ him _ in equal measure.

Belle and Will and their newborn are sleeping downstairs in the cabin, and the rest of the people have retreated to the stern, to give them some privacy. Killian just stands there, holding onto her as she holds onto the railing, swaying gently back and forth with the waves. 

She turns in his arms.

“We’re having a baby,” she says. It’s time to say it. Out loud. Make it real.

He shudders and bends down to kiss her. 

“I love you so much,” he says. “I was so scared.”

She nods. She was just as scared.

“I am never going anywhere without you again.”

She takes his hand, puts it over her heart.

“Always together, never apart,” she says, and he smiles with those bright shiny eyes.

“Together,” he says. “Always.”

And then he kisses her again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ...in case you were wondering, Swan's Island is a real island. Off the coast of Maine.  
> (It is named after Colonel James Swan of Fife, Scotland, who purchased the island in the eighteenth century.)


End file.
